


Mine to Break

by Catsitta



Series: Meant to be Mine [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mobfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Bad Ending, Choking, Coercion, Collars, Dark, Dom/sub Undertones, Drowning, Drugging, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Force-Feeding, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Horror, M/M, Manipulation, Master/Pet, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-consensual Soul Touching - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sans (Undertale), Rape/Non-con Elements, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Soulmates, Swearing, Underfell Sans (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 21:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17009565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: Trapped in a world not his own with a soulmate that wants his complete submission, Sans’ fragile hope falters. Unfortunately for him, Red isn’t about to let his precious pet dust.Directly follows “Mine to Keep”.Mobfell!Sans x Undertale!Sans | Sequel | Dark





	Mine to Break

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will not make sense without reading "Mine to Keep". Please mind the tags.

When the front door closed behind them, Sans’ soul began to flutter, torn between relief and abject horror. What has he done? Half-curled in Red's arms, weighted by exhaustion and the drugs invading his system, he was helpless to the other skeleton's tender mercies. He screwed his sockets tighter shut. This was easier. Safer. Sans was in enough pain without Red breaking more phalanges or putting another crack into his skull to make a point. He claimed that all of Sans’ earlier rebellion was forgiven and forgotten, but that did not make him any less unstable or dangerous. Any monster capable of forcing a soul bond on another and then violently attacking them was never one to trust.

Barely able to cling to consciousness, Sans curled further into himself, ignoring the traitorous warmth in his soul. That despite the fear and desperation, it still took relief in being close to its mate, whimpering its aches and woes as if the creature that hurt Sans gave a damn. The raw possessive intent leaking from Red seeped into every crack and pore, snarling its suffocating tendrils into the fractures of his psyche. He could choke on the pure satisfaction clawing cold paths along his spine, the touch that of an uninvited lover.

“told yer to git sum sleep,” Red grumbled, claws tracing aching bones through Sans’ clothes. “unless yer need a lil help wit relaxin’...” The shift in tone made him shudder. He shook his head, face buried in Red's jacket, the stench of smoke and mustard clotting in his sinuses. “dun lie to me, pet. we jus’ made up after that silly misunderstandin’.”

Sans had no words.

He clung to himself as Red carried him upstairs, hoping that the other skeleton wouldn't lash out again. He wasn't in any state—mentally or physically—to fight back. Maybe if he made himself small, didn’t provoke his evil doppelgänger, he’d leave Sans alone to rest and heal. Leave him to wallow in his suffering until his head cleared up enough to think beyond the guilt and blame. ‘You deserve this,’ sang a wayward thought, free of the box he shoved those foul ponderings into a month ago. 

_ShameFaultWorthlessDirtyBroken._

His soul convulsed, stilling for a beat before returning to its desperate flutter. Sans blamed the DT for his lingering fragment of self-preservation. The way it filled up the cracks before they could form, tolerating any stretch or strain, yanking him back together before he could contemplate falling apart. It was like his once glassy soul was made of rubber. No amount of squeezing would crumble it to pieces. No, he’d have to be DETERMINED to dust. How miserable. He imagined it’d be like boiling alive, his very self liquidized into little more than puddles of purified traits. Like an amalgamate before it stabilized. 

Sans could have laughed at the realization his logic wrought. There was a chance that he’d never know the peace of death even if he did Fall Down. If he tried and succeeded to kill his captor, would the trauma of the broken soul bond do him in like he thought originally? Oh Angel, what if the soul bond preserved Red’s life in some twisted manner, preventing either of them from properly dusting? He hadn’t considered that possibility before...

He was snapped from his thoughts by Red laying him down on the bed. Clean sheets. Warm, fluffy blankets. Red stuffed a pillow under Sans’ head. “i wuz right, yer in jus’ as bad shape as when i found yer. mebbe worse. but now yer know better than to stray from home, sweetheart. all scary and stressful. nobody to treat yer right.” His claws skimmed Sans’ skull, trailing over covered covered scapula before sliding down to curl about slim ulna and radius. He explored metacarpals with his thumb, pressing, smoothing, before he cupped mangled digits in his hand once more. Sans allowed the other skeleton to pull the arm up without resistance, blearily hoping that he hadn’t done something to earn more broken fingers. 

SNAP!

His sockets sprung open, magic bubbling along the rims. 

“shush. jus’ settin’ the bone. toldja, i’m shit at healin’, but i can do this much fer yer.” It was almost...considerate. If only the one fixing him wasn’t the one that did the damage. He was managing just fine before Red decided to—SNAP! “almost done.” His mind blanked. A few more minutes passed. The other skeleton taking his sweet time setting the bones before wrapping them with bandages. Apparently he kept a medical kit in under his bed. When he was done wrapping up fragile phalanges, he rubbed some ointment on the crack on Sans’ skull and called it done. No offers of monster food. No attempts at green magic. The only balm on the pain the sedative Grillby put in his ketchup to make it stupidly easy for Red to manhandle him into submission. “now whaddaya say, dollface?”

Once more Sans’ soul twisted, “thanks.”

“tch. yer can do better. that didn’t sound sincere.”

“thank you for healing me,” Sans slurred, the words ash sticking to his teeth. 

“hm. that’ll do fer now. we’ll work on yer manners when yer rested up,” Red said before tugging at Sans’ clothes. Heavy limbs refused to cooperate, thus Sans laid limp as his captor stripped away the filthy suit he wore. “when wuz yer last bath, pet? can’t feed yerself. can’t dress yerself. can’t protect yerself. and can’t take care of yer own hygiene. so needy.” Red arranged Sans so that he lay on his back before fondling the scar blazing across Sans’ ribs.

_DeathPainDustHATE._

The chill of Red’s lv, the vulnerability of his exposed soul, someone touching the remnants of The Judge’s own execution at the hands of the human.

_HelplessLostFearPain._

He couldn’t move. HE COULD NOT MOVE. He needed to FIGHT. Danger. Black into gold, the flash of steel as it cut through air. Laughter. Childish, manic. He couldn’t describe the expression on their face. Eyes. Brown. No, crimson. Glowing. Flares in the fathomless night. No, they were black. Dripping. Overflowing. The Void itself streaking down flushed cheeks, creeping from the corners of smiling lips. A game. It saw his death as an accomplishment. An amusement. Again. And Again. And Again. _‘i thought we could be friends.’_ So tired. What was the point? Dust hung thick in the air. He was going to die. The Judge couldn’t win. But he would stand until that blade cleaved him apart. 

A monster shouldn’t know how it felt for their soul to shatter.

Nor should a human.

It was enough to drive anyone to the brink.

_‘whelp. i tried.’_

Suddenly, the human thrust an arm into his chest, DT slicking their clothes as they palmed his soul through a collapsing rib cage. Crimson flickered within black. Skin bled way into bone. That smile twisted into rows of pointed teeth. Laughter. An outpouring of cold that wrapped up his crumbling soul until the dripping bits froze back together. He squeezed, malforming the fragile organ as if it were putty in his claws before holding it over Sans’ head.

_‘Yer mine now.’_

Reality returned with a hiss and a crash, revealing a blank-socketed Red as he cupped Sans’ soul in his palm. It was a miserable looking thing. Riddled with fine cracks suffused with scarlet, the white dim and dingy. Given the way the other skeleton was looking at it, his soul hadn’t appeared this way when he forced a bond between them.

“poor pet. all fucked up an’ afraid. dun worry no more ‘bout humans or nuthin’, nobody gonna break yer but me, and yer’ll beg me fer more when i do. is like settin’ bones. sumtimes gotta snap ‘em ‘gain to make ‘em heal up proper. it’ll hurt so right.”

And with that, Red laid those pointed thumbs onto the largest scar on Sans’ soul, flashed a smirk, before plunging the tips in deep, drops of scarlet gushing to the surface. Sans ceased to know consciousness as raw agony ripped it away.

 

Where was he? When was he? Who was he?

Gold reflected in red.

Red bled into black.

Pain bloomed into bittersweet pleasure.

 

“mornin’ sweetheart.”

Sans groaned, body stiff, aching. Cool phalanges stroked his skull. He refused to open his sockets, willing for the void of dreamlessness to encompass him again. Claws skated to where vertebrae connected to the back of the skull, scratching at the sensitive bone there before skimming lower to hook around a dreadfully familiar weight. The collar. It was back. Red toyed with the strip of leather-and-metal before sipping a hand fully underneath to wrap his hand around Sans’ neck. 

“hmm. know yer awake, dollface, but guessin’ yer wanna catch some more beauty sleep,” he said, shifting, making his bare bones evident against Sans’ own. “but i need yer to open those pretty eyes of yers for a lil bit. yesterday was awful hard on yer and I wanna make sure yer aint hurtin’ like ‘fore.”

Sans cracked open his sockets, crimson eyelights flooding his vision. Red’s face was bare millimeters from his own. There were dark hollows branded on bone, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks, but otherwise, the bastard that ruined his life and played with his soul looked normal. His toothy grin softened, as if he were admiring a favored pet. At least if Sans were a beloved cat or dog, he couldn’t have been violated as he was by Red.

“yer soul wuz in bad shape, pet. like yer wuz ready to fall to pieces. dun worry. i’mma a bit of an expert wit soul theory and our bond makes it easy to fix up whatcha broke.” Those disgusting hands were on his body, skimming ribs. He laid a palm flat over the mark maring his sternum. This time, Sans wasn’t sent into a fit of panic. “now let’s get yer cleaned up. been too long since yer had a proper bath, i can tell.”

Red shifted out of bed and lifted Sans bridal style. A gesture that might have been charming or sweet from literally anyone else. Carting him about like a lifeless doll, the other skeleton hummed a merry tune and took him into the bathroom adjoining the bedroom. It was old-fashioned compared to what Sans was familiar with from his own timeline, but given what he’d seen during his month of freedom, it was the peak of modern. Garish, colorful tiles set the backdrop for a pristine white tub. A cabinet sat against a wall as opposed to under the sink, used for necessities such as towels and extra soap.

“into the tub yer go,” he said, laying Sans down and reaching for the knobs. Pipes groaned and cold water gushed. Given all the years he spent in Snowdin and the perpetual chill of Red’s aura, the temperature barely registered beyond a split second of momentary discomfort. “takes a minute to heat up. how’s ‘bout we make this a fancy bath fer my favorite pet. pamper yer real nice.”

Vanilla flooded his nasal cavity as Red upended a box into the water. There were worse scents. The heated water soon inched its way up his legs and past his hips, soothing and reinvigorating all at once. Floundering thoughts snapped into place as he stirred from the mental fog that swallowed him in the wake of his forced helplessness. His soul wasn't pretty and he probably couldn't escape this asshole by dusting himself (unless he was lucky and the trauma from killing Red would be enough to do him in despite his DT), and he was trapped in a hostile universe without proper access to his magic. But if he could heal for a time, properly rest, maybe, just maybe, he could escape this hellhole. He'd figure out a way to mask himself despite the bond and recreate the machine (again). And when it was done, he'd find wherever Alphys kept the extractor and load himself up on enough DT that he could rip another hole in the timeline. Heck, maybe he’d just inject DT into his bones until he became scattered atoms in the void. That’d be a change. He wondered how much it would take...

A wet washcloth slapped against his skull, dripping and sudsy. “gotta keep the cracks clean till they heal.” Red was washing him. Like Sans was a babybones. He stiffened as reality properly returned and the utter insanity of his current situation sank in. Red, his forced soulmate who was treating him like a literal animal, stood over the edge of the tub wearing only a pair of low slung slacks. The rest of his form was on stark display, each scarred, crack-laden bone glinting in the humidity. This was was a monster that enjoyed the suffering of others. Whose corrupted Karma made him deeply dangerous to anyone—he did, after all, choose a human child to met out the Underground’s execution, and then punished them for harming no one. Who had no qualms about stripping Sans down and accosting his Soul whenever he damn well pleased.

“yer tense, dollface, hope yer not thinkin’ ‘bout doing’ nothin’ i wouldn’t like, now would yer?” Red dug the tip of the washcloth roughly into the edge of the tender fracture, his smile too wide, both of his golden fangs glinting.

“n-no,” Sans stuttered out, hating the hitch in his words, the spike of fear as potent as a flashing knife. How could his soul be both soothed and terrified at the same time? Water inched up the middle of his ribcage. 

The other skeleton clicked his teeth and continued to wipe him down, gentler now, almost reverent. The water kept rising. Bubbles bloomed in great mounds on the surface. By the time Red shut off the tap, Sans could barely see through the suds when leaning back. It pained to allow the mobster to maneuver him as he pleased. Tilting him so that he laid lengthwise in the tub, neck cradled by the smooth lip, those clawed hands roaming freely. After a couple minutes of scrubbing, going as far as to unwrap the bandages on his hands to clean between metacarpals, Red abandoned that effort in favor of toying with the curse around his throat. 

“so pretty. i’m tempted to jus’ keep yer like this—in only my collar and nuthin’ else. it’d be impossible to git any work done thinkin’ ‘bout yer waitin’ fer me at home.” Red sighed as Sans went rigid again, “mebbe someday. dun need yer to git fussy ‘cause yer shy. only reason ‘m not joinin’ yer in the tub is ‘cause yer half-ready to startle already. dun wanna start off our relationship wit havin’ to punish yer ‘cause i spooked yer, and yer don’ have proper control over yer magic.” That was the closest to considerate his evil twin had ever been since this fiasco began. 

Red huffed and plunged the washcloth below the surface of the water, invading Sans’ ribcage with his touch. So much for considerate. His soul was caught between panic and relief—its mate was close, so close. Luckily Red wasn’t seeking to fondle and kept moving, cleaning the sensitive insides of those slim bones before skimming the lumbar of his spine. He shuddered. Too intimate. Too much. This was too much! The washcloth reached his pelvis.

“so tense. not good for yer to be this wound up, dollface.”

Sans grabbed Red’s wrist, stilling him, “i can wash myself.”

“tch. don’t be ungrateful.” He slid the cloth over sensitive bone, the feeling invasive. Sans didn’t want him touching there. But when did Red ever show the inclination to care what Sans wanted? Luckily he was clinical about his washing and moved on, shifting to scrub his legs and feet. “almost done. don’t this feel nice, pet? bein’ takin’ care of, nuthin’ to worry ‘bout. yer know where yer next meal is, and where yer’ll sleep. i can make yer happy and comfortable beyond yer imagination. all yer have to do is let that happen. we got an understandin’?”

Sans didn’t reply. He just wanted this over. He knew if he opened his mouth nothing good would come it. His sockets screwed shut. Why couldn’t this all be one horrible, messed up dream? He didn’t hear Red’s sigh or see the other skeleton straighten up. If he did, he would have had a chance to react before his head was forced under the water. It was ironic, but despite the lack of lungs, skeletons did need to breathe. It was a reflex that kept their souls beating and magic flowing through their mana lines. And right now, not only was his internal wiring fucked by his dosing on DT, but he inhaled water, his soul struggling to separate the oxygen needed to continue bodily functions. Unlike a human he could last a little while in this horrid half-drowning state, but that was assuming ideal health parameters.

He began to struggle, only one thought in his head. 

Air. 

He’d do anything for air.

It was a primal survival instinct. One he’d curse later on no doubt. He was being held under the murky, soap-clouded water. If only he could dislodge the hand pinning him to the bottom of the tub by the throat...

Suddenly, he was yanked up, and given a shake. His magic rejected the unprocessed fluid, leaving him a heaving, sputtering wreck. The hand around his neck eased him closer to the frothy surface again, his skull brushing against lingering bubbles. “yer appreciate my kindness and generosity, dont’cha, pet?” Sans coughed up more water, fully aware that he was in no position to even attempt an escape. Red’s version of gentle was skewed, especially assuming that the lovely half-drowning moment wasn’t what he considered punishment. No, likely it was a minor ‘warning’ given it left him more disoriented than in pain.

“p-please don’t...i’m sorry.” Angel above, he sounded pathetic. Felt pathetic. He subconsciously curled, a mantra of how he deserved this miserable situation once more playing in his head. He should be resisting more. There were no drugs in his system. He might be able to turn his captor’s soul blue and—

Red let out a resigned breath and hauled Sans out of the tub, “not what i wuz askin’, but guess it’ll do this time. yer really should be more careful. swallowin’ water aint no good fer yer healin’ up.”

It didn’t take too long for him to pat Sans dry with a fluffy towel, and with a terse order to sit and wait, Red left the bathroom to return with a white shirt and the medical kit. He promptly dressed Sans as if he were a child or doll. Likely the latter given his treatment of him was close to that of a plaything. The shirt was soft and oversized, the buttons like little glossy chips of ivory. The hem fell mid femur and the cuffs needed rolled up to keep from covering his hands. Red didn’t button the front up all the way, leaving the collar on prominent display. 

In silence he reapplied ointment and rebandaged Sans’ slowly healing injuries. When he finished he touched Sans’ skull, his neck, his collar...before packing up the kit and standing, “betcher hungry. what’d yer wanna eat today?”

“spaghetti.” It slipped out before he could swallow the impulse. He didn’t especially like pasta. He was more of a ketchup and fries kind of skeleton. But after years upon years worth of resets and his yearning for some sense of normalcy in this twisted anomaly that was his life, Sans could say that he would give almost anything to choke down a plate of his brother’s awful spaghetti. He didn’t care if the noodles were burnt, soggy, oversalted and boiled beyond repair in dishwater. Or if the sauce was a glitter-infested explosion of punched tomatoes and undercooked onion. He just craved the return of one of the few constants he had left.

Red chuckled, arranging Sans’ limbs idly before picking him up again, “i just might be able to make that happen.” Was it too late to declare a hunger strike? He dropped Sans on the edge of the bed and pulled a length of cord from beneath it. “unfortunately, wit how delicate yer are right now, i can't just let yer alone to yer own devices jus’ yet. so two choices pet. yer can nap till i'm done or join me in the kitchen downstairs. if yer wanna nap, i can't have yer hurtin’ yerself by accident, so…”

Sans knew exactly what that entailed. Being trussed up again. “i'll come with you.” It would allow him a better understanding of the house's layout. He didn't exactly stick around and admire the floor plan in his mad dash for freedom. Red made a low, approving sound and proceeded to tie one end of the cord to the D-Ring like a leash. Sans stared. 

“good pet. i'll explain the house rules as i cook, hows that sound?” Red said, tugging on the lead. “can yer walk?” If it meant avoiding being carried again he could. Sans surged to his feet and swayed, knees buckling as his body failed him. Red prevented his fall with an unwanted embrace, claws stroking his cervical vertebrae in a show of 'condolences’. “figured that wuz a no. yer messed yerself up bad, sweetheart. gonna take a while fer me to fix it all up.”

Sans shivered. Why did he have an ill feeling that Red's version of fixing involved a heavy amount of soul work? 

Sweeping Sans up again, Red left the bedroom and padded down the stairs. It was too quiet. As if the house were meant for far more than a single monster and his prisoner. There was a radio in one corner and bookcases lining most the empty walls. Curtains covered the windows, blotting out the natural light. Rugs lined the living room floor, a sleek sofa with matching arm chairs assumed dominance over a majority of the space. In the corner was a singular sock, scraps of paper literally nailed to the wall above it. There were new locks on the front door, shiny and freshly installed. 

“this way's the kitchen,” he said, stepping into the enclosed space. He settled Sans at a breakfast table and began opening up cabinets and the the icebox. The familiar sounds soothed frayed nerves and for a brief spell, Sans found himself zoning out, lost in the clank of pots and the scent of tomato. He could imagine his little brother flouncing through the kitchen in his ridiculous pink apron and chef’s hat, enthusiastic about his latest training session with Undyne. Guilt squeezed his soul. He should have spent more time with Papyrus. He was the only spot of light in his life for so long. 

“sumthin’ hurtin’ yer, sweetheart? yer not listenin’ to anythin’ i been saying.” Sans’ eyesockets flew open. Red stood before him with a heaping plate of pasta covered in red sauce. Not a sparkle in sight. He laid down the dish to scrape a thumb over Sans’ cheek bone, wiping away an errant tear. To add to the humiliation of the moment, Red probed into Sans’ emotions through their bond, searching, his quest tactless and brutal. He needed him outoutout! Before he could work into a panic, Red retreated with a click of his teeth, and nailed him with a CHECK, as if to confirm his findings, “yer really need to let go of the things that make yer unhappy. the things yer can’t change. like yer brother being dead.”

Sans felt a piece of him twist, splintering in a manner that he didn’t realize was possible. For so long it was just him and the kid. The countless RESETS. Only they knew of Papyrus’ many fates. Often he ended up as dust, head sliced clean off and crushed beneath the human’s heel. And occasion, he was one of the few survivors in the underground, burdened by the expectations and hopelessness of the surviving members of monsterkind. After a while, he became numb to the inevitable. He did nothing. Was nothing. And that was okay, when it was just him trapped in an existential loop, dancing with the horrors it brought. There was always the odd relief knowing that the kid would grow bored and start it all over again. Paps would be alive. 

Here was Red, blithely reaffirming that he’d never regain the one thing that ever mattered to him in his whole damn life.

“...i hate you.”

Red tilted his skull, the room colder. His sharpened grin broadened, “that’s not a very nice thing to say, pet.”

He put up with so much. Kept his mouth shut for so long. He had a plan! _ShutUpShutUpShutUp!_ “i’d rather dust than stay here. monsters like you should burn in hell.” if only Red would—could—kill him. Then he could be with Papyrus, one way or another. Karma clamored to the surface, his left eye sputtering cyan and gold. A fitting end, to be executed by a corrupted Judge. Justice quelled by vengeance. 

Red sighed, “and yer were doin’ so well. why do yer have to be so troublesome? is it ‘cause yer don’t think i can take care of yer? gotta challenge me?” No, no that was not it at all. “I wuz tryin’ to be understandin’. this is all new and scary fer yer. but it’s obvious yer need proper discipline if yer gonna be happy...help yer forget all the bad things that happened ‘fore yer found me.” Those probing eyelights fixed onto sternum, “if punishment’s what my soulmate needs to feel he’s atoned fer his sins and failings, then i can give it. but first...” He grabbed the lead and pulled Sans up to his feet by the neck. In a swift movement, Sans found himself perched on Red’s lap, trapped by the other’s hold. “yer will eat. lucky fer yer, my brother stocked the kitchen last time he wuz here, and i had everythin’ to make that spaghetti yer wanted.”

Using one hand to hold Sans in place, Red scooped up a forkful of pasta and held it to Sans’ teeth, “open up. starvin’ yerself aint an option.” Continuing on the idiot express, Sans struggled as much as his weakened body allowed, jerking his head to the side, refusing to—

“hrk!”

Red half-crushed him to his chest with his elbow, and used his freed up hand to pop open Sans’ jaw. After that, it was an easy feat to shove the fork into his mouth. “swallow.” The ominous bite to his already bitterly cold aura had Sans swallowing on reflex. “good pet. now that I have yer attention, it’s good time to explain the house rules again, since yer obviously didn’t pay attention the first time or we’d not be havin’ this little moment.” He held the fork out for Sans, sighing as he once more had to force him to open up and swallow.

Sans wished the pasta tasted like trash. Instead it was a pleasant mix of sweet and savory. 

“rule number one: do what yer are told or yer will be punished. this is fer own safety and well-being, dollface. rule number two: if i ask a question, i expect a prompt and honest answer. number three—”

This time when he offered the fork, Sans opened his mouth willingly, but clamped down his jaws around the the utensil in defiance. He tried to wrench the fork away but Red simply took advantage of the delicate magic within a skeleton’s skull and twisted the fork up, scraping the prong against the back of Sans’ teeth. Oh Angel that felt repulsive. He released the fork, and panted, his breath stolen when Red shoved an oversized wad of noodles into his mouth.

“guess yer aint gonna listen, are yer?”

The next few minutes were a near silent struggle as Red continued to feed Sans against his will, uncaring of the choking, sputtering noises Sans made whenever he forced down to much. Slowly, Sans’ resistance faded, his head swimming and foggy. What…? No. Nono. Not again.

“the sedatives wuz originally to help yer get to sleep, but a nap is gonna hafta wait.”

He stood, easily carting Sans back up the stairs and into the bedroom. He didn’t lay him on the bed this time. Instead he dropped him in a corner and tied one end of the lead to a hook on the wall. Unable to do more than shift and lift his head, it was enough to keep him from making an escape attempt. Tired. So tired.

Red walked out of sight for a moment before returning, a bundle in his hands.

“i told yer ‘fore wut other masters do wit there pets. keep’em drugged and out of sight, kept fer their master’s pleasure alone. i dun wanna do that to yer, sweetheart, but yer makin’ it hard. right now, if i left yer on yer own, yer’d only get yerself hurt.” He knelt and lifted up Sans’ loose limbs, weaving soft cords between bones, tying his arms behind his back, and guiding him into a kneeling position. He tried to slur back a protest, but the words wouldn’t come out. Red covered his sockets with a blindfold (again) before tipping Sans over his lap. Sans skull pressed against the hardwood floor, the long shirt inching up to reveal his pelvis and a generous expanse of spine. “yer so afraid. afraid me. afraid of giving in. afraid of dying. afraid of living. how could i let yer out on yer own if i can’t trust yer not to get yerself dusted on purpose ‘cause yer under some delusion yer can get back to yer brother?”

He tugged on the leash, forcing Sans’ skull to tilt back at an uncomfortable angle, his breath reduced to a gasp. The medication kept him loose and relaxed, unable to tense despite his unnatural pose. He reached for his magic through the haze, but once more, he found it out of reach. Idly, he noted how quiet it was in his head. His soul felt...distant. Light yet heavy. Like someone enclosed it in glass. 

Oh right, magic suppressants. Those were a thing. They were originally created to help sick or traumatized monsters recover by preventing them from forming constructs or performing other offensive magic. That way the monster couldn’t hurt anyone or themselves with random emissions, their magic calmed into a temporary passive state. It had been forever since Sans experienced that particular kind of drug’s effects.

“dun worry pet, i’ll take on the burden of yer fear.” There was a hum as Red summoned a construct. “yer not allowed to dust wit’out my permission. yer not allowed to suffer at anyone’s hand but my own. it will be okay once yer understand that, sweetheart, you’ll see. once yer want to be happy and stop makin’ yerself hurt, stop needin’ me to hurt yer...ever’thing will be perfect.”

Cold magic brushed his bottomost lumbar. After a pause, the tip of the construct pierced Sans’ soft bone, DT welling to the surface. The slow drag was agonizing, numbed out only minorly by the drugs in his system and Red’s intent. He wanted Sans to hurt. Wanted his pain. But Sans’ HP remained untouched. Sweat broke out on Sans’ skull and moans escaped in place of screams. Still Red dragged it on. Cutting. Splitting. Branding. As if he were carving a tattoo. When he finished ‘writing’, because those shapes he drew vaguely felt like letters, Red skimmed the construct to rest between two vertebrae in his spine. He pressed, as if attempting to wedge the point between.

“y’know, if i wanted, i could paralyze yer. cut off yer mana mana lines jus’ enough that yer dun get enough magic to make yer legs work proper. hard to run away when yer can’t walk. and if i break yer fingers ‘gain, yer wouldn’t be able to pick up nuthin’. i’d have to do everything fer yer then, wouldn’t i?” The pressure lifted and he skimmed the construct up Sans’ spine until it reached his skull, dancing the point over covered sockets. “trauma to the eyesockets can cause blindness, yer know that? I like yer pretty little eyelights, be a shame to snuff’em out.”

Red let out a slow breath, banishing the construct.

“this is fer yer own good.”

He released his hold on the leash and laid one palm over the base of Sans’ spine (right over the burning ache he carved into bone) and cupped the other over the scar emblazoned on Sans’ sternum. Suddenly, he was submerged in the deepest, coldest ocean. Red’s lv smothering him, suffusing his mana lines, freezing him from the outside in.

It was then that Red’s intent was glaringly clear.

He wanted Sans’ complete and undeniable submission.

CLACK!

A smack to the base of his pelvis jerked him out of the haze he was dipping underneath. Sleep whispering promises of escape.

“we’re not done. not until i’m sure yer understand.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaaaaand that is where I leave you. Again. Or we'd end up in E territory.
> 
> Do y'all want more of this horribleness? Have any thoughts or suggestions? 
> 
> Feel free to hit me up here or on Tumblr. Check out my latest [blogpost](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/post/181142867917/a-holiday-treat-help-me-choose) for what I'm planning for the holidays.


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